


Stuck

by Imagining_in_the_Margins



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Hot Weather, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spencer Reid Smut, Sub Spencer Reid, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27053557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_in_the_Margins/pseuds/Imagining_in_the_Margins
Summary: Spencer!POV. Reader and Spencer get stuck on an elevator, and when Reader takes her top off, Spencer’s mind wanders.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 231





	Stuck

During sexual arousal, the human body goes through a number of astounding changes. Blood vessels dilate, causing a rush of blood not only to the genitalia, but also to our chest and face. The body, in preparation for aerobic activity, responds by increasing the heart rate. This increased blood flow leads to a release of neurotransmitters that makes your body more aware of even the slightest touch. Even the thinnest fabric could feel unbearably overwhelming. Including, for example, the fabric of my slacks.

Which is why looking at (y/n) at that moment was a terrible idea. It really was the worst possible thing I could have done in the situation, because looking at her meant noticing things I really shouldn’t have noticed. Once I looked at her, I knew that I had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

“It’s so fucking hot,” she keened, her hands raking through her hair and pulling it from her neck that also dripped with sweat. As she tried to tie it up, her chest rumbled with a low groan. “Why is it so fucking hot?”

My eyes were glued to her. Her head was thrown back and her mouth hung open with hot, heavy pants. The noise was so undeniably erotic that I had to make it stop. I had to cut her off before she realized exactly what the sound was doing to me.

“The ventilation in elevators is very interesting. It’s actually an important part of their design. If you think about it, hot air rises, so in the event of a fire on one of the lower floors, if it got into the elevator it would flood the rest of the building.” I rambled, my leg starting to bounce.

(Y/n) glanced down at it, which was enough of a warning to make me stop. I was probably shaking the whole elevator, which was not advisable in our current situation. If I hadn’t been so distracted, I probably would have been more freaked out about the possibility of falling.

Once the rocking movements ceased and we were still again, she spoke. “Is that why they don’t let us on the elevator when there’s a fire?”

“That, among other reasons. I don’t think anyone wants to boil alive.”

She let out an angered huff at my poor choice of words, considering that’s very much what it felt like we were doing. She didn’t say anything though, and I looked away to avoid the death glare that seemed stuck on her face. 

“But you know, we also have conflicting energy codes, considering wide scale ventilation of elevators wastes an enormous amount of energy.” I droned, knowing that the words wouldn’t be anything resembling interesting for her. It was a purposeful decision. I had chosen something so horribly dull that no person could ever be turned on by the conversation. I was trying to talk myself down.

It seemed to work; my body had started to relax again despite the tense situation. I’d almost made it out of the painfully aroused stage when it happened.

“It’s strange, right? We don’t often think about how much controversy a couple of vents could caus—“ I looked at her, and my throat closed around the word.

“What?” she asked, like nothing had happened.

“N-Nothing,” I answered, pretending much the same. But something had happened. Something that undid all of my hard work to lessen the tension in my gut and the frantic pounding of my heart.

“You stopped talking,” she pointed out, crossing her arms for a split second before remembering that the close contact just meant more condensed body heat. Throwing her arms aside, she responded to that frustration by snapping at me, “Spit it out, kid.”

“I just…” I swallowed, “I didn’t realize you’d taken off your shirt.”

It was another poor choice of words, although it was the truth. While she had been wearing a business appropriate button up blouse seconds prior, now it was bunched in her hand instead. No, all that she wore then was a _very_ thin tank top, which only barely covered a bright pink lace bra underneath.

“Yeah, it’s a million fucking degrees in here, Spencer,” she explained, fanning herself with her hand. I almost started to explain that the action would just raise her heart rate more, and cause even more blood flow and more heat, but I didn’t. Partially because I was pretty sure she didn’t want to hear any more negativity, and partially because my mind decided this was the perfect time to wonder what it would feel like for her hand to be wrapped around my…

“You can see my bra,” she stated loudly, taking note of the far off look in my eyes that were affixed directly on her breasts. And to think, that wasn’t even the body part I was fantasizing about. I would have explained that to her, but I still didn’t particularly want to die. Not yet.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I know. I haven’t done laundry yet this week because our job has the stupidest schedule known to mankind. I wasn’t exactly expecting to strip down to a tank top today,” she explained, and I tried my hardest to pay attention. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop my gaze from drifting back to the brightly colored garment. 

I had to wonder, if that was her ‘laundry day’ last resort bra, it had to at least have been bought with intention at some point. I desperately tried steering my mind from going down the path of wondering who she’d intended on seeing her wear it. I wondered what most men would think when shown the way her skin contrasted the bright hues.

“And hey, worst case scenario, maybe my tits can distract the bad guys, like they’re doing to you right now.”

It took me a minute, but when her words finally registered in my brain, my eyes snapped shut. I could feel the heat in my face triple, and I knew she could see it, too. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes in the hope that I could wipe the memory from my brain. 

The harder I tried to ignore it, the more vivid it became.

“Are you uncomfortable?” she asked it in a painfully condescending manner. A manner that should have been humiliating for me. I suppose that it was. It was just hard to consider it in any negative manner when it made the arousal that I felt skyrocket to heights that shouldn’t be possible.

“No, ma’am.”

Shit. I didn’t mean to call her that. I really, really didn’t. Luckily for me, she didn’t seem to mind. While her eyebrows raised in an almost imperceptible fashion, she chuckled.

“Okay, well, that’s a lie.”

There was one, heart-stopping, earth shattering moment where I thought that I’d been caught. Even with my satchel hung over my crotch and my breathing regulated, I could have sworn she’d figured out where my mind had imprisoned itself, and she was going to address it. Bluntly, and very likely in a devastating manner.

“It’s hot as shit in here. Saying you’re not uncomfortable is the most obvious lie in the world,” she coolly explained, “I thought you were supposed to be a genius.”

The sigh of relief I let out was so loud that she must have mistaken it for anger.

“I apologize for the presence of my tits. Would you rather I took the bra off?” she barked.

“No!” I shouted, quick and harsh. Her eyes widened at the sound as it echoed in the small space. Again, I was forced to sit with the silence and wonder if she was preparing my inevitable doom.

But then she just scoffed, “Fuck, I was really hoping you’d say yes.”

I knew she was only saying that because it was hot, and she wanted one less layer on. She was not saying that because she wanted me to see her without a bra on. She was not implicitly begging me to look at her breasts. Repeating that over and over to myself, I managed to stumble through a few regrettable words.

“I-I mean…. You can take it off i-if you want…”

(Y/n) looked at me with an impressed and entertained grin. “You sure you won’t stroke out? You’re looking pretty red.”

I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. She was just trying to be nice. She was not coming on to me. She couldn’t be.

But then how else was I supposed to explain the fact that, despite the heat, she took a step to close the distance between us. Slowly, she raised a hand to my cheek, cupping the heated skin and turning my head to the side to look at her more directly as she teased, “Aren’t you worried about heat stroke, doctor?”

“I’m fine,” I squeaked, high pitched and desperate for her to keep on touching me in any way she was willing to. In one way more than others. “You just deserve to be comfortable, that’s all.”

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. Her hand fell away with a slight chuckle. “Too sweet for your own good,” she hummed, turning to step away again.

I thought about stopping her. My hands were itching to catch her arm and pull her back to me. Even in the blistering heat, I considered pressing our bodies together. How would she have reacted? There was no real way to know. No matter how hard I tried to profile her, my own attraction to her got in the way. My wishful thinking would doom any profile to bias and fantasy.

Would she laugh at my attempt to take control? I almost wanted her to. I wanted her to find the idea so ludicrous that she threw me against the wall herself and showed me exactly what it meant to break someone.

I wanted her to break me.

The erection that had been present the whole time had passed the point of pleasure into pain. I found myself preferring it that way. I considered the fact that she might like the idea of me, suffering at her hand and in her honor.

I wanted her to hurt me.

Her hands. Now that she’d touched me, I couldn’t stop feeling them on my skin. I could almost imagine what they would feel like wrapped around me. But there were too many variables. Would she hold me so softly I barely felt or, or would she work me with her fingers with enough force I couldn’t even move? Would she move quickly and force me to hold on for as long as I could, or would she drag it out until I was a mess of broken begging underneath her?

I wanted her. I needed her. 

But then, with one brutal shake of the elevator, the car began to move. With a torturous pace, it made its way back to the ground floor before the doors finally slid open.

And she was gone.

—

The cold shower I took during lunch was one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life. It wasn’t until halfway through it that I realized it would go a lot faster if I just... dealt with the problem more directly.

I felt so fucking guilty. Guilty didn’t even begin to cover it. The whole time I touched myself, all I could see was the sweat on her brow and the way her lips parted with a groan. Each time my eyes slid shut, I could see the way she lifted her hair to fan her neck, exposing the soft skin to me. I heard the soft pants and whines she’d innocently given, and I knew I was going to burn in hell.

It almost seemed worth it. That is, until I saw her again.

“Spencer, can I talk to you?” She’d asked with such a remarkable coolness that I had no idea what I was walking into. But upon closer inspection, I would have realized it was a supply closet. A very brightly lit, absolutely filthy closet, and she was shutting the door behind us.

“Yeah, sure, what’s u—“ I started, but the rest of the word, and all of the air in my chest, left me all at once as my back was slammed against the back of the door.

“W-What are you doing?!” I shouted in a poor attempt at a whisper. My voice was so high, and the whines and whimpers falling from my lips were only getting higher as her hands started quickly removing my pants.

“Just shut up,” she growled through a wild smile. The sight alone was enough to drive me insane.

“What? Why?” I was starting to figure it out, but I wanted her confirmation. I needed to know that this wasn’t some beautiful fantasy concocted by my sad, lonely brain after I passed out in my own shower.

“Because if they hear us, they’ll know,” she answered in the vaguest way possible. I would have been more concerned about her plans if she hadn’t paired the words so well with her hand pulling my erection free from the suffocating confines of my slacks. But under those conditions, I really didn’t give a shit what happened to me, as long as it happened at her hands.

“T-They’ll know what?” I stuttered under my very heavy breath.

It was obvious that she had been about to get down on her knees, but after my question she just stopped. She let out a deep sigh before standing up straight again and resting her free hand on my shoulder in a rather condescending manner.

I hated that she could feel the way it made my dick twitch in her hand. She was smiling again— a sickly saccharine smile that displayed a cruelty and beauty that shouldn’t be possible.

“They’ll know that I have your dick in my mouth, Spencer,” she purred, and my heart stopped. 

Just as she finished speaking, her fingers began to move, applying just enough pressure to force another answer out of me. I think it was her way of asking for permission, but I was too lost in pleasure to say anything else besides, “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be.”

It was good enough for her.

“I didn’t mean it like tha—!” I tried to appeal, but she had dropped to her knees so quickly she was gone before my eyes even opened. Before my lungs could fill even once since this ordeal started, her lips had wrapped so perfectly over the head of my cock.

“Shit!” I hissed, immediately bucking into her mouth. The action, while regrettable, led to a wonderful outcome.

(Y/n)’s hands grabbed my hips, shoving me back against the door and holding me there. I hadn’t looked down yet, but I knew what I would find. She would be looking up at me, trying to find a way to smirk with her mouth full of me.

I wanted nothing more than to look down and watch her. I wanted to watch the way she slowly slid her mouth over my cock. I wanted to commit this moment to memory in even more vivid detail than my brain was capable of. But I knew that the second I did, I could never come back from it. She would have absolutely ruined me. Forever.

Instead, my hips fought against her hands with harsh bucking motions that went largely ignored. It wasn’t until I heard her lightly gag that she forced me back again, and that time with a light smack over my hip.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I panted, my head falling back against the door with a soft thud. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Her silent way of thanking me for my compliance was hardly silent at all. In fact, the lewd sound of her lips sucking on her own saliva she’d spread over my cock was louder than it needed to be. She was trying to get my attention.

She had won. It wasn’t the sound alone that forced my hand — it was merely the realization that she had already ruined me long before she touched me.

And when I saw her, it was undoubtedly worth every second of the rest of my life. As she bobbed her head over me, her eyes stayed open and wanton, staring back at me with an unadulterated joy.

She knew. She knew she had ruined me forever, and she fucking loved it.

With both hands on my hips, she couldn’t touch herself. But I saw the way she rubbed her thighs together as she rocked forward. It wasn’t nearly as entrancing as the way it felt to watch me disappear in her mouth, though.

The next time she took me in, I felt the back of her throat. My breath hitched and my hands flew to her hair. I didn’t apply any pressure; I was scared that if I did, she would give me nothing. Then again, the thought of her driving me to this point and then walking away somehow seemed equally attractive.

But she didn’t. She continued to press forward, swallowing around my cock until her lips pressed against the base of me. It was at that moment that she decided to do it.

She fucking _moaned_.

I couldn’t stop myself then, my hands gripping her hair and pulling her even harder against me. I let out my own moan as my body helplessly trembled under her hands. It became horribly clear very quickly that she was _not_ happy with me.

Swatting my hands away from her head, she pulled herself off of me and took in a deep breath. “I told you to be fucking quiet,” she seethed. It shouldn’t have been possible to be so scary and domineering with a string of spit dripping from her chin, but she did it, anyway.

And I wanted to listen to her. I wanted to give her everything she asked for and reap my reward. But something about the double standard stoked a very problematic flame in the back of my mind. And I decided, in a weak moment of sexual frustration, to give that flame a voice.

“Oh, so you get to make noise, but I don’t?”

If I’d thought she was frustrated before, in that moment she looked downright pissed. She shot up from her spot on the ground and grabbed a handful of my hair before I could even think to stop her.

“Listen here, you ungrateful fucking brat. If you want to bury your face between my legs, then you can make as much noise as you want.” Her hand holding my hair twisted, forcing me to bare my neck to her while she continued. “But until then, Spencer, I expect you to stand here quietly and follow my fucking directions.”

Her voice was so low and rough, I almost couldn’t believe it was coming from her. But it was. It was her, holding me in an undeniably vulnerable position with my pants around my ankles and her other hand ghosting over my exposed throat.

I was ruined. I was hers to do whatever she deemed fit.

“Can you do that?” she barked, forcing my chin further up so my head would press harder against the door. I couldn’t see her face when she spoke, which seemed like both a mercy and a curse. “Or should I leave you here with your dick covered in my spit so you can get yourself off like you did earlier?”

I thought my face couldn’t get any hotter, but it did. Hearing her admit to knowing about the effect she’d had on me, and that she had thought about me getting myself off to my memory of her was too overwhelming.

“I understand. I’ll be good, ma’am,” I sobbed, trying to let the remorse come through in my words. I meant them from the bottom of my heart. “I-I promise. I promise I’ll be good.”

As she released her hold on me, she uttered a simple, “Good.”

She took her time returning to her previous position on her knees. I could tell by the veiled grin on her lips that she was glad to see her violent aside hadn’t done anything to kill the mood. It only made me want her more.

Encouraged by my audience that time around, she spent more time swirling her tongue over the head of my dick. I swallowed my whimpers this time and tried to throw myself into a future moment where I would relive this over and over again.

Slowly, and with purpose, she licked the newly formed bead of precum from the tip before she slid her mouth over me. The slickness of her tongue against the bottom of my shaft somehow felt hotter when I watched her take me in.

She was way too fucking good at this. She knew it, too.

It was so wet and so warm that I thought about closing my eyes and pretending it was another part of her altogether. But it seemed like such a disservice. I briefly wondered if I would ever get to experience that, too. It was only a brief thought, because soon after I’d had it, she began to move with a renewed vigor.

I couldn’t have taken my eyes off of her if I’d tried. She looked so fucking beautiful, so lost in an unmuted pleasure as she tried to draw noises from me. She’d told me to be quiet, but each time I whimpered, she would only move faster.

It was a miracle I’d lasted that long with my fantasies come to life. If I hadn’t taken care of myself earlier in the day, I was certain it would have been a matter of seconds. I felt a little guilty about making her work for so long, but it was evident that she was fully enjoying herself. The way she looked then, on her knees and with my hands gently petting her head, was the happiest I’d ever seen her.

I’d done that to her. I’d driven her to that place that made her thighs rub together and moans spill from the little space between her lips and my cock.

“Oh, fuck,” I whined as my nails dug into her scalp, “Fuck, I-I can’t—“

(Y/n) gave one last low moan, her fingers firmly dragging over my hips as all of the tension in my body snapped at once.

I couldn’t stop myself from moaning then, completely lost in the pleasure she gave so freely. There was thankfully no chastisement from her. All things considered, she seemed extremely pleased as she continued to hollow her cheeks, her eyes rolling back as I painted the back of her throat.

There were no more moans from her, but she continued to make noise. The wet, lewd noises of her bobbing head while she cleaned my dick of any remaining evidence of what she’d done to me. Then, with an overly dramatic pop of her lips and a deep gasp for air, she dropped back on her heels.

“Well I’ve only wanted to do that for like 5 hours.”

I didn’t know what I was supposed to say to that. Even if I could have thought of anything, I was barely in a position to talk. Returning to her feet, she brushed off her knees and released her hair from its ponytail with a chuckle. “Fucking elevator cameras ruin all the fun.”

Everything about her seemed so calm that it almost made me feel the same. But that wasn’t really reflected in my tense body language, or the way I fumbled to put my pants back on. (Y/n) watched me, drinking in the sight of my flushed cheeks and shaky hands. She looked proud. Of herself or me, I couldn’t be sure.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she cooed while her hand cupped my cheek.

Even that minimal contact was enough to set my body off again. I leaned forward against her palm, my mouth rambling every thought that came to my mind.

“I-I’m good. Great. I’m great. Wonderful, actually. I’ve uh, never been better.”

And she laughed. Not the kind of laugh that was meant to humiliate or mock me. It was a happy, lighthearted giggle that made butterflies stir in my chest.

“You’re just too sweet,” she muttered through a sigh. And just when I thought that wonderful, mind boggling and life altering moment had reached its natural end, her hand slid through my hair.

With a firm tug, she forced my head down so that she could whisper in my ear, “Next time, it’s your turn.”

She had me at ‘ _next time_ ,’ but I certainly wasn’t going to argue with the second part, either.

“Yes ma’am,” I whispered back, “I promise I’ll be good.”


End file.
